


Jean-Paul Valley's First Metal Show

by NyxieBlack



Category: Azrael: Agent of the Bat, DCU (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics)
Genre: Gen, No Beta, batfam, cw alcohol, for once, just some friends hanging out, not angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 16:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18664186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxieBlack/pseuds/NyxieBlack
Summary: “THIS IS AMAZING!” He found himself yelling in Duke’s direction. His voice came out quieter than he expected, drowned in the interwoven vocals, keyboards, bass, and guitars.“GLAD YOU LIKE IT!” Duke yelled back.“AT LEAST ONE OF US IS INTO THESE PEOPLE!” Kate chimed in.“I AM GOING TO THE FRONT!” Jean-Paul yelled.“HAVE FUN!” replied Kate.“GOOD LUCK!” remarked Duke.





	Jean-Paul Valley's First Metal Show

**Author's Note:**

> First up, massive thanks to someone who wishes to be credited as “Buster Rhythms: The Man with Music on the Mind”. He helped a lot by allowing me a window into the mindset of someone who doesn’t enjoy extreme metal. Also, a shout-out to @HolyNosebleed on Twitter for remembering what the heck that band mentioned in All-Star Batman was called
> 
> Please enjoy my first attempt at a Batfam fic!

Duke Thomas and Kate Kane were both enjoying themselves, but Jean-Paul Valley couldn’t say the same. The venue was too crowded, the music was too loud, and he had already been shoved twice by overenthusiastic strangers heading for the pit. After the first set, he tried asking Duke what the heck the band was singing about, but Duke said he had no idea. He said the next band wrote music about systemic injustices that were endemic in state psychiatric hospitals. Oh, and sometimes about zombies. 

The second set came and went. Jean-Paul could maybe see how Duke would get “zombies” out of the guttural roars of the lead singer, but he was lost if he was supposed to see any criticism of public mental health institutions. It didn’t help that the bass player and the drummer always seemed to be playing two different songs, and the discordance was giving him a headache. To Jean-Paul, it was an impenetrable wall of noise, bearing down on him. 

During the break between the second and third sets, Jean-Paul was deeply regretting letting Luke pressure him into going to this thing with Kate and Duke. It wasn’t a school night, and Kate had said she wanted to do something to make Duke feel at home in the group. The two had close enough tastes in music, so she and Duke found a show with a lineup they both thought would be fun to see. It was already a planned outing before Jean-Paul found himself involved at all. 

According to Luke, Jean-Paul was isolating himself too much, it wasn’t good for his brain, and that he needed to get out and be around other people for a while. Jean-Paul understood Luke’s reasoning, but it wasn’t like Jean-Paul had been neglecting to sleep or eat or meditate. All he had been doing was working out a few kinks in his flame gauntlets and working out those kinks meant cutting down on socializing for a bit. He hadn’t started seeing people who weren’t there, he wasn’t hearing disembodied voices, he wasn’t going into fugue states. Things were fine. 

That said, Jean-Paul saw where Luke was coming from. Sometimes isolation was the first warning sign that a breakdown was coming. It didn’t help that the last conversation Jean-Paul had with Luke was characterized by his own too-long stares and slightly too delayed responses. It was easy to forget how to interact with people face-to-face after spending a couple days out of practice. Part of the reason Jean-Paul agreed wasn’t because he was truly scared that something bad was coming, but rather because Luke had a good point. Maybe, _maybe_ the last few days _were_ a warning sign. Jean-Paul didn’t like what his brain threw his way, and he certainly didn’t like who he was when he was in the throes of a mental collapse, so fine, he’ll spend a night out with friends. 

And Jean-Paul did genuinely enjoy spending time with Kate and Duke, even if he was baffled by their taste in music. At that moment, Kate was getting something at the bar, which meant Jean-Paul and Duke were tasked with holding their spot in the crowd. She had offered to get Jean-Paul something, but he said no, thanks, but no. He tried to avoid substances that could make his admittedly wobbly grasp on his mental faculties even wobblier. That, and a shot of Fireball made him drowsy. 

“Who’s up next?” Jean-Paul asked, having to yell a bit over the background chatter. This wasn’t Jean-Paul’s usual crowd—he wasn’t accustomed to being in places where this many people had full tattoo sleeves. And the language was a lot more colorful than he was used to. 

“One sec, I can’t remember the name.” Duke pulled out his phone and scrolled through Facebook until he found the right page. “Looks like it’s something called Ex Glacies? I’ve never listened to ‘em.” 

Kate was back, a clear plastic cup of beer in hand. “Oh, the next band? Yeah, they’re not my thing.” She took a sip of her drink. “But I heard they dress up like knights and stuff, so that’ll be pretty funny. Oh, Jean-Paul, how you holdin’ up?” 

“I’m fine,” Jean-Paul replied, hoping his smile was convincing. 

“Look, if you don’t like it, feel free to tell us, and we’ll leave. Me and Duke are here for Batman’s @^$&@, and they already played,” said Kate. 

“No, really, we can stay,” Jean-Paul repeated. He dreaded when the lights would go back down and he would have to deal with more noise, more sweaty strangers pressing in on all sides, more flashing lights, but he was dedicated to not ruining their night. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” replied Duke. 

They continued their small talk as roadies set the stage for Ex Glacies. It would be more accurate to say that Kate and Duke continued their small talk, with Jean-Paul only cutting in occasionally with an “ah” or an “I agree.” He didn’t feel as though he was contributing much, but he didn’t feel left out, either. That was nice. 

Eventually, the house lights went down, and stage lights bathed the venue in a mystical blue, accompanied by a glittering guitar riff. Jean-Paul heard yells of approval from some of the audience as the band members filed onto the stage, all clad in cheap, plasticky armor. Kate smirked into her beer. Duke looked up from his phone. Jean-Paul wasn’t sure how to feel, at least not until the lead singer took the mic. 

Suddenly, the venue was filled with clear, soaring vocals, telling the tale of an epic fantasy battle between angels and demons, heaven and hell, good and evil. This, this was clicking with him. No, more than just clicking. Brian Bryan, the world’s worst psychiatrist, had lent Jean-Paul some Styx tapes back in the day. Styx clicked with him. This band—with its keyboard solos and its piped in choir music—this was something Jean-Paul had never experienced before. This was smashing wide open a whole new corner of the universe. There was a wall in his perception of the world that he had never noticed before, and it was crumbling fast. In short, Jean-Paul was having a revelation. And it was euphoric. 

“THIS IS AMAZING!” He found himself yelling in Duke’s direction. His voice came out quieter than he expected, drowned in the interwoven vocals, keyboards, bass, and guitars. “GLAD YOU LIKE IT!” Duke yelled back. 

“AT LEAST ONE OF US IS INTO THESE PEOPLE!” Kate chimed in. 

“I AM GOING TO THE FRONT!” Jean-Paul yelled. 

“HAVE FUN!” replied Kate. 

“GOOD LUCK!” remarked Duke. 

Getting to the front without getting body slammed by an errant mosh-er (was that right?) was an easier task than it would have been during the last two sets. Once he was pressed against the railing that separated the audience and the stage, Jean-Paul had long since stopped caring that the music was so loud he could feel his teeth shiver in his head. He was far past shutting his eyes against the lights that flashed in time with the drums. He wasn’t even bothered by the sticky substance of unknown origin that he was standing in.

As far as Jean-Paul was concerned, he may as well have physically become music in that moment. He had never felt such a connection with a crowd of strangers. They were all there because they passionately loved the same thing, and in that, Jean-Paul felt a bond. The woman with a nose ring to his right was jumping up and down, smiling wide. The man to his left only stopped headbanging to pick up his glasses, which kept falling off his face. As for Jean-Paul, he was trying to yell along to the lyrics as best he could. 

The end came too soon. “You’ve been a great crowd, Gotham!” the lead singer said, to thunderous applause from the first few rows of people. “We’ll be at the merch table if you wanna hang out, buy us beers, whatever.” More applause as the guitarist threw a few extra picks he had into the crowd. The lead singer shook a few hands on his way backstage, Jean-Paul’s included. Eventually, the house lights came back on, and some roadies started setting up for the next group. 

Ex Glacies’s set had lasted a little over thirty minutes, and it was up there for the best half-hour of Jean-Paul’s life. Sure, there was graduating college and wearing the Bat-symbol in there, but Ex Glacies’s music—equal parts theatrical and sincere—felt like a puzzle piece that had been missing. He felt as though he could vibrate through life on a different wavelength, now that he knew that such auditory perfection existed. He had not truly understood what liking music was before. Fine, there was stuff he would hum to when it was playing, but this was the first time in his life that he was utterly enraptured with music. Now that he knew he could feel like this, he knew he couldn’t go back. 

The crowd around him was breaking up, so getting back to Kate and Duke was an easy task. 

“Hey, Jea—” Duke started. 

“Hey guys,” Jean-Paul interrupted. “Kate, which beer were you drinking earlier?” 

“Fat Tire. Why?” Kate replied. 

“Thanks. I’ll be right back,” Jean-Paul said, making long strides towards the bar. 

He didn’t know his beers, and he trusted that Kate had good taste. After standing in line at the bar, tapping on the side of his leg with his fingers the whole time in impatience, he was on his way to Ex Glacies’s merch table, balancing six plastic cups filled with Fat Tire. 

Jean-Paul couldn’t comprehend why the line for the merch table was so much shorter than the one for the bar, but it worked in his favor. He was second in line sooner than expected, too. He listened to what the person in front of him was saying. (“Hey guys, great set. Can I get that shirt? Large. Thanks, man!”) Running through what he wanted to say himself in his head, he was taken by surprise when he was suddenly at the front. 

“Hey, guys, great set,” Jean-Paul mimicked. 

“Thanks, man,” replied the man seated behind the table. He had a bit of a German accent, if Jean-Paul was placing it correctly. He was pretty sure he was talking to the bassist, but they all looked very different than when they were on stage, in costume. “It means a lot, really.” 

“Yeah, uh, so I got you all beers—” 

“Woah, really?!” interjected the keyboardist. She continued, “You’re the first person all tour who’s got us something!” 

Jean-Paul was still balancing the drinks in his arms when he said, “So, so it doesn’t seem like I can put these down without spilling them, so…” He trailed off. The more he spoke, the more he felt his throat close. 

“Yeah, yeah, lemme help you.” The keyboardist was leaning over the table, taking two of the more precariously perched beers and passing them down. 

The bassist took his from Jean-Paul and asked, “Dude, you want a patch or something? We also got stickers.” 

“No, thank you!” Jean-Paul forced out. His hands were now free enough to put down the remaining drinks risk-free, so he did. Jean-Paul found his new favorite band almost surreally normal. Just regular people going about their a bit less than regular lives, spreading something that made Jean-Paul feel like he was soaring. And that’s when whatever it was that was forcing his throat shut went away, and he found himself vomiting out every last thing he considered saying: 

"WowwhatagreatsetIreallylikedtheonethatwentAAAAAAAAAAHWhatsongwasthelastone?ThatonewasreallygoodI’veneverlistenedtomusicthatmademefeellikeyourmusicmakesmefeelit’sjustlikemylifenoI’mnotgoingtogointomoredetailsI’vesaidtoomuchbutwowyouremusicisgeniusdoyoudoconceptalbums?TheuhthebasslineinthesecondsongwasamazingYesIwouldliketosignupforyourmailinglistohandcanIgetthisalbum?Ohandtheotherone’s,tooNoreallyyou’remyfavoritebandNoI’veneverheardofyoubeforenoIdon’tneedabagthankyousomuchthankyouOHWAITONESECCANYOUSIGNTHEM?OHWOWTHANKYOUOKAYGREATSETHOPETOSEEYOUAGAINGOODBYEYESI’LLENJOYTHERESTOFTHESHOWTHANKYOU" 

When Jean-Paul turned to depart the merch booth, he realized that the lights were lowered and the next band had taken the stage. He had been so lost in his own world that he hadn’t even noticed when the din grew to the point that he was yelling in the direction of Ex Glacies. The crowd had thickened considerably, so Jean-Paul got out his phone to text Kate and Duke about where they were. He unlocked his phone to meet a litany of texts from the two of them, wondering how long he was going to take and updating him on their locations. The most recent text was from Duke, and it read: “Hey, youre probably gonna hate this next act, and me & Kate arent fans, so were gonna hang out by the front. Meet us out there!” 

That worked out well, then. Jean-Paul didn’t blame them for thinking he wouldn’t like the next band. The music was just like if someone had made the first two bands play while submerged in a vat of honey: sluggish and just barely meeting the definition of “music”. 

Jean-Paul Valley felt the cool night air hit his face as soon as he opened the door to outside. 

“Did you see that band who was selling chocola—oh, hey Jean-Paul showed up!” Kate said. She and Duke were waiting by the front door, as promised. “Seems like you had a good time.” 

“Yes, I did! Thanks for letting me come, by the way.” 

Kate smiled. “Any time. Now, me and Duke were thinking about grabbing something to eat. You in?” 

“Sure,” replied Jean-Paul. 

And so, the three ended the night in a twenty-four-hour sandwich shop, talking about one topic or the other, just enjoying the company and winding down. Jean-Paul was pleasantly worn out when he collapsed in bed that night. His ears rang for two days afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> No, really, I will send you a bag of my hair if you start a pit at a Sunn 0))) show. I'm gonna need video proof and an address, but I'll do it.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Comments, kudos, critique are all welcome! Thanks for reading!


End file.
